The Little Things
by FlamingDoritos
Summary: For the FE100 Challenge. It's the little things that kept them going through the wars.
1. Joining Up

A/N: LOOK I'M ALIVE. I was busy doing school and then failing two classes and then working my butt off to pass classes. And then summer happened and I worked 6 days a week. And now I'm back in school and learning how to teach kids between 9 and 13 years old how to play music! So it has been crazy.

I want to complete one of these a week so we'll see how that goes. No, I haven't abandoned the rest of my fiction. Probably. XD I am just very busy.

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving!

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><p>Ike couldn't help grinning when he saw it, and from the corner of his eye he saw Soren quickly hide a smile behind his parchment.<p>

Around them, people were clearing a path, laughing behind their hands and informing anyone who didn't know about both the Pegasus Knight's strength and temper, in that order. Ike saw Soren's bottom lip shift just slightly—the sage was biting the inside of his lip, _hard_, to keep from openly smiling. Ike had never bothered hiding such things and he was in no mood to start now.

As Marcia stopped in front of them, her brother still howling for her to release his ear at once, Ike burst out laughing.

Soren managed to keep it together far better than Ike.

"And how may we be of assistance to you?"

Ike only laughed harder.

Marcia looked ready to explode. "This _rat_ is the reason I had to leave my _job_. My best _guess_ at how much money he owes is somewhere over two hundred—" at this point, her grip tightened on the man's ear and he started screaming again, "—_thousand_ gold! Do you hear me, Soren? _Two hundred thousand_. Even _after_ the group we just took out!"

The sage's expression finally settled and he nodded. "Two hundred thousand gold. If we have debt collectors hounding us for money, it will cause considerable problems to our reputation."

Marcia nodded, finally releasing her grip and sending the man tumbling to the ground. "They'd be lined up out the doors of the barracks. Now that word is out that I'm travelling with you and that I'm back, they've probably started lining up again. There's no _end_ to it." She turned to Ike. "I'm leaving him in your hands."

Ike finally caught his breath. "Two hundred thousand is quite a bit of money." He glanced down. "Get up. What's your name?"

The man was on his feet almost instantly, eyeing the swords on Ike's back. "Makalov, sir."

"Makalov." Ike didn't flinch. "I'll be sending Soren to the barracks tomorrow morning to pay off your debts."

Makalov looked ready to fall over again. "J-just like that?"

Soren snorted. "You can't believe that the world is so forgiving. Or that we are so foolish." He glanced down at his parchment briefly. "Once this is paid off, we'll have lost nearly all of our money."

Makalov paled. "You can't mean—"

Ike smiled. "You, my friend, are now in _our_ debt. You will fight to repay the Greil Mercenaries."

"I—just so you know, I'm rather prone to illnesses—"

The butt of Marcia's lance hit him in the back of one knee, hard, and he tumbled to the ground again. "Horseshit," she growled. "You've never been sick a day in your life. Starving, sure, and beaten so badly that you had to spend a week in bed, but never _sick_."

Ike chuckled. "It's settled, then. Payment will be deducted from your wages. Until you have paid the two hundred thousand gold you owe, you work for free. Don't even _think_ about leaving the company. Or getting sick." He clapped his hands together. "Right, then! I trust you'll do your best. Meet Mia in the training grounds in an hour and we'll see what you're capable of."

Makalov stared after them as they left, not bothering to move even after the crowd had dissipated and his sister had stormed off.

"…nuts."


	2. Help Me

She had never seen anything like it before.

She knew of nightmares, certainly. Images that flooded mortals' minds during sleep, their weakest state, bringing out their greatest fears and tormenting them relentlessly until something finally jarred them into a state of consciousness again. She knew, to a degree, how to tell from their actions during sleep whether or not they were in a pleasant state of mind or not, and if she chose to share their body she could see at the same time what they were seeing—sharing Micaiah's body had taught her that much. From sharing a tent with Sothe, her experiences with nightmares involved a lot of tossing and turning, sweating, shaking, gasping for breath.

Yune had never before seen someone so rigid, breathing so shallowly, their heart pounding so hard that she could see their pulse this clearly through their skin. It was worrisome; could a mortal die from something like this?

As Micaiah exhaled, Yune left her body, letting herself be breathed into Stefan. What greeted her was pain, unrelenting, searing across her forehead, blinding her eyes, cutting into her wrists and burning her throat when she tried to call for help. Horrified, she withdrew. Stefan breathed out the softest of words, so quiet that even a laguz would have difficulty hearing them.

"Help me."

It was all Yune needed, in one breath she was back in Micaiah's body, in two she was sitting up, pulling Micaiah's hand back before the girl even began to wake up, and slapping Stefan as hard as she could. The force of the blow sent him sprawling across their tent and he yelped as he was finally released from sleep. It took him a moment to realize what was happening, that he was alive and unhurt. His hands flew to his face, checking for injuries, and then he gave Micaiah a hard look.

Micaiah was shaking, cradling her broken hand with the other. Stefan didn't seem to notice.

"What on _earth_ did you do _that_ for?" His teeth were clenched and he was still trembling. "Can't a man get a good night's sleep around here? Ashera, you're a worse tentmate than Tormod, and he _snores_."

Micaiah was still struggling to sort out what had just happened. Yune took control. "Stefan, it's me. It's Yune." She swallowed. "I couldn't leave you like that. I didn't know what else to do. You looked like you were dying, and I saw what you saw, and it hurt, and—I couldn't just _leave_ you like that!"

Stefan visibly relaxed, crawling back to his bedroll and rearranging his blanket. "You should mind your own business, Yune. I don't care how curious you are; it isn't polite to intrude on another's thoughts without their consent."

Micaiah was begging for the use of her body back and Yune gave it to her, watching closely as the girl threw her arms around Stefan without a second thought, even as pain jolted through her arm.

"I'm so sorry," Micaiah breathed. "You've been exhausted for days, anxious and short-tempered and completely out of it. I should have noticed something was wrong. Please don't be angry with Yune; she's got no clue how people work."

He pushed her away gently. "Let's look at that hand of yours and then we'll talk."

Micaiah shook her head, pulling her hand away from him as he reached for it. "No, it's alright."

"I insist, Commander."

"Stefan, it's fine—"

He froze and she cursed, biting her bottom lip and seeming to shrink, not trying to hide the mark on her hand anymore. "Please don't tell anyone. I'll do anything, but please, _please_ don't tell anyone that I'm Branded."

Stefan's eyes were impossible to read, and Yune nearly jumped into his head again before remembering that he'd called her rude. He rummaged through his satchel for a moment and withdrew an elixir, handing it to Micaiah without a word. Silently she drank it, flinching as her bones snapped back into place. When Stefan reached for her hand again she let him take it and examine the mark, tracing it with his fingertips.

"It's beautiful," he finally murmured. "You're lucky."

"_Beautiful_?" Micaiah looked ready to explode. "Do you know what this mark _means_?"

Stefan nodded and pulled his hair aside, and Micaiah gasped. Surrounded by scars sat the mark of the Branded, clear as anything even in the dim moonlight.

"My father tried to carve it off," he murmured. "That's what Yune saw. He tied me down so I wouldn't be able to fight and sliced it right off my face when I was nine years old. He left me there to bleed to death; the only reason I'm alive is because I managed to break free and bandage myself up." Tentatively he reached for her. "…what is your story?"

She bit her lip. "I have none. I was abandoned on the border between Begnion and Daein when I was an infant. An old woman found me and took me in, knowing what I was. She told me to always wear gloves, to never get close to anyone. I have always been careful and not once has anyone found out what I am." She paused. "Prince Pelleas believes that I am a Spirit Charmer. Anyone who happens to glimpse the mark does, simply because I was trained to be a healer."

Stefan nodded. "That's fortunate. There are many Branded in the world who can get by because of such misunderstandings." Carefully he slid an arm around her. "I won't say anything to anyone else, if you don't want me to. But I would like to extend an invitation."

She frowned. "An invitation?"

"To Grann Desert, where we met. There's an oasis not far from there. An entire village of us. We're hidden away, in secret, where nobody can find us." He squeezed her. "When you are ready to move on from whatever life it is you choose when this war is over, come find us. I would be very pleased to have you join our village."

Micaiah was silent for a long time. "…I don't know."

Stefan wasn't fazed in the least; instead he smiled and clapped his hands together. "That's better than outright refusal. Think about it, alright? We're going to live for a very long time, Micaiah. You have years to think it over."

Her lips curved upward only slightly. "We should sleep," she murmured. "Long day ahead of us." Without waiting for a reply, she returned to her bedroll and pulled the blanket up. "Goodnight, Stefan."

"Mm." He still seemed cheerful. "Give Yune my thanks for waking me."

"I will."

Yune took the opportunity to ease back into Micaiah's consciousness.

_You're worried._

Micaiah snorted. _That man has no sense of timing. _

_What does "Branded" mean?_

_It means that we are abominations._ Micaiah was silent for a long time after that, hovering in the place between consciousness and unconsciousness. _I don't know what I'm going to do when I get older. I age slowly. I'll need to leave Daein before people realize what I am. They'll wonder why, after ten years, I don't look any different. That's why I never wanted any of this—the fame and being a leader. People watch you._

_But you'll have a place to go._ It was still confusing. _I don't understand why you aren't happy about that_.

_Because I will have to leave everything behind. I will need to leave before Sothe grows old, I will need to leave behind Nolan and Edward and Leo. All of the people I love I will need to abandon._ Micaiah sighed. _Goodnight, Yune._

She refused to speak after that. Yune left her, opting to sit at the foot of the girl's bedroll and just stare.

Micaiah had given Stefan relief, helped him settle back into a realm of sleep without nightmares. He had offered something to her in return, a place to go where she would never be judged or refused anything once people knew about that strange mark that made society hate her. And she had been unsure about accepting the offer.

Yune had never seen anything like that before, either.


End file.
